


The Blind Can See

by FourCornersHolmes



Series: Valentine Blind [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Child Death, F/M, Gen, Hannah Is A Saint, Hannah drives an ambulance, Married Life, Mild Angst, Parent-Child Relationship, Parentlock...if you squint, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 04, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sherlock Holmes is married, Sherlock has a heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 00:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCornersHolmes/pseuds/FourCornersHolmes
Summary: The further adventures of Holmes & Watson. The wedding's over, the honeymoon is...currently on hold? Hannah and Sherlock return to Baker Street and to the routine they left behind three months ago when they journeyed north in search of healing and reconciliation.





	1. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back on Baker Street, Hannah and Sherlock return to routine and begin to build their lives. Hannah returns to work, there's case-work and bodies. Sherlock Holmes is involved, of course there are going to be bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my research on radio-codes for police/EMT/fire, and the US codes are just a little easier to use/understand, so those are the codes I use in my story. Yes, I not it's not completely accurate, but the American codes are far more...detailed, more precise. Each code has a clear description. The UK codes are a little more broad, covering more than one type of incident, and I needed devoted codes, so the US codes are being used.
> 
> So in the spirit of full disclosure and making sense of numbers and letters on a scanner code, I give you the codes for "Home Is Where The Heart Is":  
> 273D = Wife beating - Felony  
> 245 = Assault with a deadly weapon  
> 246 = Shooting at inhabited dwelling  
> 187 = Homicide

* * *

The morning after Hannah and Sherlock traded vows and swore their lives to each other in every way that ever mattered, they woke at a decent hour, their usual hour, and went about their daily routine as if nothing had changed at all. A shared shower became a longer affair when Sherlock decided to play dirty, and it was gone ten before they could make themselves presentable. Out of habit, Hannah had her work uniform ready to go in the event it became necessary. According to reliable sources, her job remained in-tact, she was effectively on leave for personal health reasons, but her job had not been taken from her. So, when her phone rang at noon while she scoured the net for cases and Sherlock doodled on the violin, Hannah glimpsed the number and answered.

 _“This is Watson.”_ It was her standard salutation, but Sherlock still turned from the window to watch her.

_“Yes, so sorry to bother you, ma’am. This is Patricia.”_

_“Hi, Pat.”_ Hannah knew the dispatchers by first name, had made a point of it in fact when she had started working for the ambulance corps. _“What’s up?”_

_“I know you’re not really on the roster, but your alternate called in sick about an hour ago and a call just came through for your bus.”_

_“Is Malloy driving?”_

_“Of course he is, dear.”_

“Hannah?” Sherlock was looking out the window, eyes narrow.

“I know.” She was already on her feet, collecting her uniform pieces.

 _“Patricia, you can mark Ambulance 7437-A on location at Baker Street.”_ She looked out the window over Sherlock’s shoulder. Roan Malloy wasn’t going to come inside, but she got the feeling he knew they were home. How was anyone’s guess, Mycroft and Greg were still out of town on a sort of second honeymoon. Hannah and Sherlock weren’t looking to get much of one, nor were they particularly interested in one. Maybe later, but…not right now. They’d already been away from London for nearly three months, so there didn’t seem to be much reason to take more time away from work. Hannah grabbed her duty-belt and parka and headed out the door.

Sherlock followed her down to the street and stopped her long enough to stand her still to get her into her coat and make sure everything was in its proper place. She had her ballistics vest (something Greg insisted she wear on duty and hadn’t worn the night she was attacked by her stepfather, which had led to her broken ribs after getting kicked in the chest by that one patient); her duty-belt with her torch, handcuffs (another gift from Greg), TASER, and PAVA incapacitant spray – he had basically outfitted her with everything constables carried on the beat with appropriate permissions granted for her to use them, and after her attack, she could say it was all very much appreciated; her SIG was tucked into its special hoslter in the back of her work-trousers, hidden by her clothes, Sherlock wasn’t about to let her set foot out of the house without that, ta very much. As he fastened her parka, he tucked her gloves into a pocket, tweaked her shoulder-radio to the proper channel, slid her mobile into another pocket, tugged down on the brim of the knit-cap emblazoned with the corps’ crest in blue and white so that it stopped just at her eyes and tucked a couple of stray hairs under the brim.

“I’m not a ten-year-old child playing in the snow, you silly thing.” She scolded, taking his hands in hers, “I’m just going to work.”

“I know. But this is the first time we’ve actually been separated since we left London. You know that? Besides the four days I was with your sister in Glasgow.”

“I do. But I have to, Sherlock. I’ll be in touch, okay? You know how to reach me. I’m not exactly going to war here.” She touched the side of his face, tracing the line of those remarkable cheekbones, “We haven’t really had work in two months, we have bills to pay. My pension can’t cover rent for both of us, and your trust-fund isn’t really available either.”

“We have other resources, my love. Just be safe? Please?”

“I will if you will. No running after London’s criminals without your wife, alright?”

“I promise.” He took her hands and kissed her, “Go save London.”

“I’ll see what I can do. London may not want saving today.” She rolled her eyes and turned away from her husband. Her. Husband. So weird to be able to say that! And Roan Malloy had no clue! Actually, it wasn’t very likely anyone in London who hadn’t been at the wedding even knew. She hadn’t said anything, and last she’d seen or spoken to her coworkers, she hadn’t really been on speaking terms with Sherlock.

“You’re driving, Watson,” Malloy said as he got in on the kerb-side.

“Roger that, boss. Where to?” She hopped in on the other side after gauging traffic and clearing it. Plenty of volume, but nothing she couldn’t manage. Malloy gave her the address of their next call, it had already been entered into their GPS, and she pulled out once space opened up in the flow of traffic. As she flipped on the ambulance’s blues-and-twos (it was that kind of call), she only regretted that she couldn’t see Sherlock. A check of the rear-mirror gave her a brief glimpse of her husband standing on the street watching them drive away and she couldn’t help a smile.

“That silly idiot.”

“What’s he doing?” Malloy looked in his side-mirror, having a better view than she did, “Just standing there.”

“He’s not entirely thrilled I got called away on work.”

“I know you’re not supposed to be on the roster today, but Clarkson called in sick right when this call came in and I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“What happened to Clarkson?”

“Went home about two hours ago feeling a bit off. Called in right when this call came in and told us he wouldn’t be back for two weeks.”

“Jesus, what’s he out with?”

“Pneumonia.”

“Keep that at home, thank you!” Hannah grimaced, “Well, that’s alright. I can cover a couple of shifts for Clarkson.”

“We’ll have to decon the whole bus later, God knows how long he’s been sick.”

“Send it for detailing, get a replacement until it’s cleared.” She shook her head and manoeuvred through traffic with the same careful handling she had once driven Foxhounds in Afghanistan. It was practically the same principle.

“You don’t drive like anyone else I know, Watson.”

“Well, how many of your drivers are veterans who got their experience on The Highway to Hell and driving the roads between Kandahar and Lashkar Gah?” She raised an eyebrow as she swerved around a cluster of cars squarely in her way, taking the upcoming corner with precise speed.

“Is that where you learned how to drive?”

“Anything that wasn’t a civilian vehicle, sir.”

“Explains everything about you. I keep forgetting you’re a vet. Been a few nasty places, haven’t you?”

“One or two.” She checked the GPS and looked out ahead of the ambulance. “There they are.” Two panda-cars indicated the proper house, and she frowned. “What’s The Met doing here? Pat didn’t say precisely what it was we were getting into.”

“We got ourselves a pretty big mess. The Met boys got a call for a 273D, with a 245 and possible 246.” Malloy called in over the radio that they were on location as she brought the bus to a halt just this side of a familiar line. A couple of uniformed constables were just setting up the crime-scene tape as they arrived.

“Jesus.” Hannah kicked her door open and ran around to the back of the ambulance to grab their kits.

“Hey! Watson!” One of the constables already on-scene had recognized her. Hannah looked over her shoulder and smiled at the boys in blue.

“Hey, Jenkins! Heard you got a real doozie this time!”

“Yeah. Might need another bus if it’s that bad.”

“Who’s hurt?”

“Both adults.”

“Any minors?”

“A couple, but not sure there’s any hurt there.” Patrick Jenkins shrugged uncomfortably, “Always makes me sick when little ones are involved.”

“Oh, good thing Sherlock’s not here, he’d be seeing red.” She muttered, slinging her kit across her chest.

“Yeah, thought you were up in Scotland still? What’re you doing in London again?” Jenkins’ partner Abby Foster tilted her head.

“Got back late last night. This call came in and Malloy came to get me and here I am.”

“Watson!” Malloy hollered from the other side of the bus.

“Yeah, coming!” She looked over her shoulder, “Pub-night, lads?”

“Yeah!” The Yarders all nodded eagerly. Maybe they didn’t really get on with Sherlock, but they certainly didn’t mind spending a night drinking with Hannah. As she headed for the house, she had to step aside as the other car’s team came barging out, fighting with a very combative woman who spit and kicked and cursed in two languages. A few things happened then and Hannah jumped into action. As the constables shuffled past with their belligerent charge, the woman twisted to her right, brought her foot down on Mark Helker’s instep, and broke free. They must have had trouble getting the cuffs on her, she broke out of them as she made a break for freedom. Hannah put herself right in the woman’s way, squaring her stance for a short, efficient take-down that happened faster than anyone expected it to. The woman had no chance to alter her course or stop to challenge Hannah before she was tumbling arse-over-teakettle to the pavement, only to be quickly flipped onto her front and pinned as Hannah knelt on her shoulders and slapped her cuffs around the woman’s wrists.

“Don’t fight me, love, just don’t.” She huffed, barely winded from the short encounter.

“You’re not The Met!”

“Nope, but I work for ‘em!” She checked her cuffs, tightening them just a bit more for good measure, “I don’t know if you started this mess, but you sure didn’t earn yourself any points by resisting arrest. That never looks good.”

“He said he was going to kill us in our sleep! Arrest him!” The woman bucked and screamed, and Hannah looked over her shoulder at the house.

“Where are your children?”

“Oh, he can’t hurt them anymore! They’re safe where they are!” The woman giggled maniacally, “Just perfectly safe! Moron didn’t see it coming, he didn’t!”

“Oh my god.” Hannah suddenly had the worst feeling they were too late and got to her feet, “Get her to The Met! Get answers out of her!”

“Roger that, Captain. Where are you going?”

“Er, Foster, you come with me.”

“Got it.” Foster took point on her six and they entered the house with their weapons drawn. Foster worked Narcotics but ran patrols with Streets part-time, so she carried a gun. It was useful in instances like this. Inside, they found the husband sitting on the couch in the lounge, being treated by Malloy. As soon as he saw Hannah and Foster, his eyes lit up.

“Oh thank Christ! Upstairs! Hurry, please! Second bedroom! You’ll have to break the door down!”

“We’ll take care of it, sir.” Hannah readjusted the strap of her kit and ran up the stairs quietly, Foster right on her heels. They stalked the indicated bedroom and tried the door. It was, indeed, locked. It was also very, disturbingly quiet inside.

“Captain?” Foster breathed. “I’m not real good at breaking down doors.”

“I am.” She muttered, “You clear the rest of the rooms on this floor and I’ll get into this one.”

“Roger that.” Foster patted her on the shoulder and started clearing each room. Finding nothing in the other two rooms, she moved on to the third floor and started clearing the rest of the house. Hannah holstered her SIG and squared up against the door. The mechanism was older and didn’t quite secure properly, so getting the door open wasn’t really that hard. Hannah got it open with a few well-aimed solid kicks. It crashed against the wall slightly off its hinges, and Hannah stepped carefully into the room. And stopped dead in her tracks. She had seen horrors unspeakable in the Army, but it still gave her chills whenever she came upon a scene of domestic violence that had resulted in the death of some party involved. But she forced herself to move forward, forced herself to check for vitals she knew she wouldn’t find, forced herself to make that awful call to Despatch to get Homicide to the house ASAP. And since Lestrade was out of town, whoever was on would have to do. Normally she’d request her brother-in-law’s team, but he wasn’t around at the moment. Probably better that he wasn’t.

“Watson!” Foster yelled from upstairs, “You’d better get up here!”

“Oh, please tell me we’ve got a live one!” She tore up the stairs to the second floor and found Foster in another bedroom, on her knees by the bed.

“Under there.”

“Thank Christ! It’s a mess downstairs.”

“How many?”

“Two. Twins. Not seven yet.”

“You called it in.”

“Yep. You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did. Oh, my god.” Foster breathed out slowly and Hannah got down on hands and knees to peer under the bed. She couldn’t quite see anything, but a sweep of her torch showed a small shape huddled in one corner, far from the door, tight against the wall.

“Alive?”

“Far as I can tell. Won’t budge.”

“Let me try.” Hannah got down on her stomach and squirmed under the bed a bit. The commotion got some sign of life out of the bundle of child and Hannah took a deep breath. “Hey.” She kept her voice soft, “Hey there, you can hear me?” A slight nod of the head. Okay, good. “Are you hurt, love?” No. “Are you sure?” Yes. Okay, fine. Hannah shoved herself under a bit more. “I’m not going to hurt you, darling, I’m a medic.”

“Police?” It came out “po-weece”.

“Yes, the police are here, too. Can you look at me, love? Please?” She was close enough to touch but didn’t, scooting back a bit so she wouldn’t startle the child, “You’re safe now, I promise. No one’s going to hurt you.” The child, all of maybe three, uncurled a bit to look at Hannah, blinking in the glare of her torch. She turned it aside so it didn’t blind the child and held out one hand, “Come on to me, dear. I’ll take care of you. Come on. Come here.”

It took some serious coaxing, almost ten minutes of it in fact, but Hannah finally got the child to come to her and she put her arms around the toddler. She stayed there, under the bed, until the Homicide team arrived. When they did, she asked for someone to get a blanket for her. A blanket taken from the bed was pushed over to her and she used it to bundle the child up.

“Alright, love, I’m going to go out, and then I’m going to pull you out on this, okay? Be still and quiet for me and I’ll take care of you, I promise. You’re such a good girl.” She kissed the toddler on a damp cheek and squirmed and kicked her way out from under the bed. When she got her feet free, someone else grabbed her by the ankles and pulled. In like fashion, she dragged the child out from under the bed in the blanket. Once she was free, she shoved up on her knees and pulled the surviving victim into her arms. Several hands helped her stand, kept her steady when her left knee buckled, and someone pushed her to sit on the bed she’d spent nearly fifteen minutes under.

 

In broad daylight, she got a better look at her little survivor. The child, on closer inspection, was barely three, small for her age, scrawny, and obviously undernourished. Stringy, dirty red hair was matted and she stunk of urine. Hannah wrapped her up in the blanket and rocked her, calming her down before she ever considered taking her out of the house.

“Anything we can do, ma’am?”

“Clean clothes and a dry nappy, and another blanket. Maybe a stuffy.” She looked up, “Has anyone called Crimes Against Children? They’ll want to know about this.”

“Yeah, Foster did.”

“Good. Okay. I’ll get this girl looked after and she’s all yours.” Hannah got to her feet and made her way out of the house and down to the street, which was now completely cordoned off and filled with squad-cars, vans, and ambulances. There was one more ambulance, and a coroner’s van had responded to the call.

“Coroner’s going to be busy with this one.” She muttered as she headed for her ambulance, wondering if this one would be going to Molly Hooper or not. About halfway there, she caught sight of someone she recognized and paused. Eyes narrow, Hannah handed her small burden off to Malloy, taking a shop-bag with the requested items from the house.

“You okay, Watson?” Malloy asked quietly as they stripped the toddler out of her wet, soiled things and bagged them for evidence, God bless the tech who got to handle that mess, and wiped her down before putting the dry nappy and clean clothes on her, wrapping her in the blanket and giving her the little stuffed dog that was apparently a favorite.

“Not what I wanted to handle just off the plane from Edinburgh last night.” She looked over her shoulder, “And I could have sworn Lestrade was still out of town, but trust that sly bastard to sneak back and prove me wrong.”

“Wasn’t he gone on family-business?”

“Word gets around fast, don’t it?” Hannah smiled, “Yeah, more or less. They travelled up to visit family outside of Edinburgh. They came to visit Sherlock and I.”

“I keep forgetting, you’re both Scottish.”

“Yep.” She leaned against the step of the ambulance and looked out over the scene, “Is that Philip Anderson?”

“Hmm?” Malloy looked up from tending to the toddler.

“Right over there, in blue. That’s…Anderson.”

“You know him?”

“Sometimes wish I didn’t, do his job better in my sleep than he does wide awake.” She folded her arms across her chest, “What’s he doing here?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, it just means his boss is back in town when he’s supposed to be on holiday.” Hannah leaned her head back, eyes closed.

“You can go on, if you want.”

“I’m not skipping a live scene, Malloy. I do enough detective work for those morons to know better.” She waved vaguely at the clusters of Yarders beyond, “Nearly all of ‘em are good people, but there’s a couple I could do without.”A shout from behind the bus got her attention and she sighed, stripping off her exam gloves and raking one hand through her hair. “Well, I’ll go see if I can figure out who’s in charge of this circus.”

“I’ll keep our little missy company.”

“Thanks, Malloy.” She pushed away from the ambulance and went around the front. Once she was out of earshot, she switched to the Despatch channel and called in from the scene.

_“Despatch to Driver Watson for SJA Ambulance 7437-Alpha.”_

_“Go ahead, Watson.”_

_“Despatch, can you give me the name of the lead DI or DS from The Met for the 245 gone 187?”_

_“Uh, yeah. Looks like the team that responded to your 187 was Lestrade’s.”_

“Guess he’s not out of town, then.” She muttered, releasing the press-to-talk button for a minute, “That sneaky fucker. Where’s he, then?” She looked around, knowing it would be pretty damn hard to miss her brother-in-law, who wasn’t going to like the paperwork for this case very much. And harder still to miss her husband. If he wasn’t sneaking around here somewhere, she would be very, very shocked.

 _“Thanks, Despatch. Watson, out.”_ She signed off with the dispatchers and switched channels again to listen in on the chatter between the Homicide team. There was a very good chance she had completely missed Greg and suspected that was likely the case. But she simply bided her time, sitting in the ambulance with her door open. They didn’t need her, and she wouldn’t see her bus dismissed before they either handed the toddler over to The Met or took her to a hospital. That call was for Malloy and Greg to make. She was just the driver, getting them from Point A to Point B quickly and safely and efficiently. Suddenly, her radio squealed on The Met’s channel. She winced and turned it down a bit, adjusting the dial to clear the channel.

 _“We’ve got a problem out here, Boss.”_ There was Sally Donovan. Yeah, it was Greg’s team, alright. She’d seen Anderson, she’d just heard Donovan.

 _“What is it, Donovan?”_ And there was Greg.

_“The Freak’s here. Insists he needs to come through. Won’t say why or how he found out. You didn’t call him, did you?”_

_“I didn’t. I just got back to town two hours ago, Donovan, I didn’t have time to call him when I picked this up.”_ Ooh, he was not happy with Donovan’s lip. Hannah peeked out of the cab of her bus and wished she could see the line from here.

_“Then who called him in? We don’t need him, do we?”_

_“Just…Jesus, Donovan, just let him through, will you? I’ll handle him.”_ Greg was nice and cranky. She wondered if this was a planned trip. Probably about as “planned” as Hannah and Sherlock’s return from Edinburgh last night. Funny how they were all so work-oriented a long break like the one they’d just gotten back from bothered them so much they were in a hurry to get back to the chaos. It was their way of life, really, nothing to be done for it. Figuring her husband had two reasons for being here, and The Work was not the first of them, Hannah hopped out of the cab and went back around the bus to where she could see the line. She pulled on her warmer neoprene gloves and adjusted the cuff-strap with her teeth. As she went to see Foster, who was now manning the line, Hannah caught sight of Sherlock. He wasn’t really causing trouble, but of course Donovan wouldn’t be happy to see him. As she neared the line, Sherlock’s sharp gaze caught hers and he straightened. Completely ignoring Donovan, who blustered and sputtered indignantly as he swept right past her, and giving Foster a brisk nod as he passed her at the line.

“Constable.”

“Mr Holmes.” Foster stood aside, watching him go, “Thanks for getting here so fast.”

“I wasn’t looking for work with your lot, but crime never takes a holiday.” Sherlock kept moving towards Hannah, who hadn’t stopped her forward motion. This would be the first time he had visited her while she was working, but certainly not the first time they had worked on a case together. And it was very unlikely to be the last. A few more feet and her momentum was stopped by her husband, who wasted no time showing her a bit of affection. Public displays were not his thing, but he wasn’t in the mood to care either way right now, and neither was Hannah. His arms came around her shoulders, hers tightened around his waist under his Belstaff, they touched foreheads, and she put her head down on his chest, listening to a steady, living heartbeat. After the scene in the house, it was nice to have someone stable and living.

“How many, love?”

“Two.” She wouldn’t look at him, “Twins. Barely seven. I don’t know what killed them, but there was an awful lot of blood. But none on either of the parents.”

“I’ll have Lestrade detain them both for questioning if he hasn’t done so already. What of the surviving child?”

“We’ll take her to the hospital and give her to family or the state.” Hannah finally looked up, “Thanks for coming. I didn’t ask anyone to call you.”

“Foster called, almost right away.”

“God bless Abby Foster.” Hannah breathed a sigh of relief, “Let’s get you to Greg before he comes looking for you.”

“I’d like to see the survivor first?”

“Sure. I don’t mind.” Hannah took Sherlock by the hand and headed back towards her ambulance. They managed to kill two birds with one stone, Greg had stopped by to talk to Malloy and when he saw them coming up together, his expression softened a bit more.

“There you are.”

“I won’t apologise for ruffling Donovan’s feathers.”

“You don’t have to, Sherlock.” Greg looked over his shoulder at the toddler, “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s actually our jobs to handle this kind of thing.” Hannah hugged her brother-in-law, “I thought you were still in Edinburgh, you sneaky son of a jackal.”

“Sorry. We came back early, probably for the same reasons you two came back last night.” Greg sounded tired, “I don’t regret coming back early, but I regret coming back to something like this.”

“I’m not even supposed to be here, but my alternate called in sick and Malloy had to come for me.”

“Will you finish out the shift, then?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, “Would expect anything less of me?”

“Of the woman who finally had the sense to marry her best friend? I’d be a little surprised if you didn’t, love. Stay in touch?”

“Sure. Where are we taking her?”

“Great Ormond Street Hospital.”

“She’ll be in good care there. Any family?”

“Haven’t found any yet. I’ll set Sherlock on it and let you know if we get any hits.”

“Sounds good to me.” Hannah looked into the ambulance where Sherlock had traded places with Malloy and held the toddler in his lap, singing to her in French as he rocked her. She didn’t seem to mind the stranger holding her at all and Hannah smiled. “My husband’s a softie.”

“He loves children, hates crimes against them. This isn’t going to be a fun case.”

“For any of us. Have the coroner’s teams moved the bodies?”

“Not yet. I wasn’t expecting Sherlock, or you, but I figured if he showed up he’d want a look at the scene. Not to mention someone saw you and figured he might not be far behind, so they’re on standby.” Greg folded his arms across his chest as he leaned against Hannah’s shoulder, “I wish you could stick around, I get the feeling I’m going to need someone to keep him stable when he sees the twins.”

“Ask Foster, she wouldn’t mind.”

“She went with you when you cleared the house, didn’t she?”

“Yep.” Hannah sighed and climbed into the ambulance, “I’ll get our little miss to Great Ormond Street.”

“Thanks, Hannah.” Greg stood by as she touched her husband’s shoulder.

“Hey.” She rubbed the back of his neck, “I’ve gotta get her to Great Ormond Street Hospital so they can get her taken care of. Are you gonna be alright with Greg?”

“You can’t stay?”

“I’ve got a job to do, love. Foster’s gonna be here, though.” She ran her fingers through his hair, knowing he liked it and it also calmed him down, “It’s okay, Sherlock. We’ll get justice for the twins and make sure this little one is kept safe. I promise.”

“What happened here?”

“I didn’t really get a chance to piece things together, the lack of blood on the parents kind of threw me off, but the mother’s quite unstable. I had to take her down after she got away from Helker and Bates and broke out of handcuffs.”

“Maybe you should look into becoming a Special Constable.”

“I'm an ambulance driver, that’s a conflict of interest.”

“I bet you could get special permissions.” He smiled, “Do this part-time and that the rest of it and I very much doubt we’d be complaining about financial stability.”

“Maybe. Don’t get your hopes up.” She shook her head and kissed him on the cheek, “Come on, out you go. Go work your magic.”

“Do I have to be nice to Donovan and Anderson?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” She took the victim from her husband and got her secured for the trip over to Camden. Malloy would sit with her while Hannah did the driving. Before he hopped out of the ambulance, Sherlock got to his knees before the little girl and spoke to her in French, a language they both spoke among several.

*“Can you be good for my friends now, Celeste? They’re going to take very good care of you, but you have to be a good girl for them. Can you do that for me?”*

*“Yes, Daddy. I’ll be good.”* She rubbed her cheek and sniffled, *“She’s very pretty. And very nice to me.”* This was said as the little girl looked up at Hannah, who was still reeling from a complete stranger addressing her husband as “Daddy”. The girl had a father! Had she missed something? Possibly.

*“She’s very nice to many people, especially to me.”* Sherlock smiled and looked over his shoulder at Hannah, *“I got very, very lucky. Be good for them.”*

*“Okay.”* The little girl, Celeste, just smiled and put her small arms around Sherlock’s neck.

*“Kiss.”* A simple request. Hannah hopped out of the ambulance and leaned against the door as Celeste kissed Sherlock, who got up carefully and nodded to Malloy, who had watched the whole exchange, puzzled.

“Malloy.”

“Holmes.” Malloy looked past Sherlock to Hannah, who just shrugged. Once her husband had both feet on the ground, Hannah closed the doors of the ambulance. Going around to the cab, she opened the door and looked at her husband after she got the bus started.

“Start talking.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Who is that girl? Do you know her?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might. Because if you do, then she doesn’t necessarily need to go to the state.” Hannah checked her watch, “Is she yours, Sherlock?”

“No, but I was friends with her mother in university. We stayed in touch after graduation and when she became pregnant by her boyfriend, she asked me to help.”

“What did you do?”

“I provided financial support, gifts for Christmas and birthdays, I visited when I was able.”

“For all intents and purposes, you were the only stable father-figure Celeste ever knew, but you were never…”

“She is not mine, save in love.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” Hannah hugged her husband, “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll wait. I believe she has surviving family elsewhere, but if they don’t want her or can’t take her care…”

“We can make room at Baker Street for her.” Hannah smiled, “You go do your job and I’ll do mine.”

“Thank you, Hannah. For…everything. For understanding, for not…” He trailed off, head down. This had hit hard, and not just because two children had died. This was personal. Hannah shook her head and leaned up on tiptoe to kiss her husband.

“I will never judge you for something like this, Sherlock Holmes. It is not my job.” She kissed tears from his cheek, “As soon as I know Celeste is safe, I will call you.”

“Thank you.”

“Stay with Greg, Sherlock. Alright?”

“Alright. Go, you…have a job to do.” He let her go, very reluctantly, and she climbed into the cab. She watched her husband take a minute to compose himself as she called in to Despatch and then to Great Ormond Street Hospital.

 _“Ready back there, Boss?”_ she radioed to the treatment-bay behind the divider.

 _“Ready when you are, Watson,”_ Malloy responded with an affirmative. Hannah nodded and checked her time. Getting the ambulance rolling, she left the scene behind. The last thing she saw in her side-mirror was Sherlock, still standing on the pavement, back to her retreating ambulance, trying to pull himself together before he went into the house. 

 

With her blues-and-twos running, she made the drive from Whitechapel to Camden in ten minutes. They were in and out of the hospital in another ten minutes, Hannah had a word with the social workers to call her if anything came up with Celeste, if they found family or didn’t. Then it was on to finish an unscheduled shift. It was hard to leave Celeste, who realized Hannah was leaving because she had to and started to cry. Hannah sighed and turned right back around, leaving Malloy to manage the paperwork when he waved her off. He seemed to know that her stake in this was personal. Running back to the room, she stepped between a couple of nurses and a physician, who quickly backed away when she appeared.

*“Celeste, my little one.”* She sat down on the bed and touched Celeste’s cheek, *“I’m right here, my love. I’m here.”*

*“Please, please don’t leave!”* Celeste begged, pressing her face into Hannah’s parka. Hannah sighed and reached for her radio.

“Watson to Malloy.”

“Malloy. What’s up?”

“Can you bring me my kit from the bus, please? Just bring the whole thing in.”

“Sure. Why?” Malloy sounded concerned, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…I need something out of it.” She kept certain things in her kit for incidences just like this one, little gifts to give frightened children so they weren’t so upset. It usually worked a treat to calm them down so they could be treated efficiently. Three minutes later, Malloy arrived with her kit, handing it over with a questioning glance.

“Are you okay, hon?”

“Yeah, this just hit kind of close to home for us.”

“I can tell.” He folded his arms as she opened her kit and dug around for the item she wanted. Finding it, she pulled a stuffed toy from her kit, a Pokemon doll from the popular video-game and collectable card-game franchise. It was fifteen inches high and stuffed soft and squishy, and it made a sound when you pressed its paw. She had several of them, different animals from franchises and standard teddy-bears. This one, which she gave to Celeste, was a Pikachu. She had wrapped a length of blue polar-fleece flannel around its neck like a scarf.

*“This is Pikachu. He’s my friend.”* She held the toy out to Celeste, who reached for it instantly, *“He wants to be your friend now. I have to go back to work, Celeste, but he’ll keep you company for me.”* Celeste studied the toy and stroked the material of the little coat the doll was wearing.

*“It’s your coat, Mum! Your coat!”* She beamed, recognizing the doll-sized parka a crafty friend of Hannah’s had fixed up for her, an exact replica of the parka she was actually wearing right at that moment, with the same reflective silver piping on the torso and sleeves and even a miniaturized corps badge on the left breast and “MEDIC” in little silver lettering on the back storm-flap. Hannah smiled and stroked Celeste’s hair, wondering where the red had come from. Sherlock was a natural auburn, but she wasn’t Sherlock’s child. One or both biological parents must have had red hair. Her heart gave a painful jolt as Celeste called her “Mum”, the same way she had called Sherlock “Daddy”. She didn’t have the heart to tell Celeste she wasn’t Mum, knowing it wouldn’t do any good. Hugging Celeste, she stood back and looked at the girl.

*“I have to go back to work now. We’ll be back to see you later, okay?”*

*“Promise?”*

*“I promise.”* She leaned in and kissed Celeste on the cheek before she left the room, leaving Celeste in the care of her care-team and the social workers. She left a note with the physicians to keep an eye on Celeste for symptoms of pneumonia or any sort of respiratory illnesses.

“Why?”

“My alternate went home sick and was diagnosed with it. If her jabs are up to date, we should be okay, but I would suggest giving her a booster just as a precaution. Holmes would never forgive me if I let her get sick.”

“She’s not…” The staff knew Sherlock, of course. Hannah shook her head.

“No, she’s not. And he’s not. Just make sure she doesn’t need a longer stay.”

“Of course, Captain.” The physicians nodded and Hannah returned to the ambulance. Driving back to headquarters, they dropped off their bus at the motor-pool with orders to have it decontaminated. Everything inside was treated, from equipment to what was in their kits. Once their kits had been treated, they changed their clothes and went back out with a new bus and a call to respond to. After their next call was handled, Hannah took a break to eat. Sea salt crisps, tea, and a packet of liquorice had to suffice until she could take a proper meal break.

-&-

It was gone midnight before Hannah clocked out and made her way home to Baker Street. It didn’t surprise her to see the lights on in 221B, they never kept typical hours and she would be shocked if Sherlock was asleep. Or even home. She recalled he had a terrible habit of leaving the lights on when he went out, especially if he was in a hurry. Hannah adjusted the strap of her kit over her shoulder and dug up her keys, letting herself in. The house was warm, so she suspected Sherlock was home.

“Sherlock?” She called up the stairs, “You home?” No response, but that was kind of typical. Shrugging, Hannah went upstairs, skipping over the squeaky risers, and poked her head into the sitting-room. “Oh, there you are.” Her husband was on the couch, his usual place, it looked like he had just gotten in a bit ago, his coat hung over the back of her chair, tossed haphazardly aside. Hannah sighed and picked his things up to hang them properly before adding her own gear.

“It takes less than a minute to take off and hang your gear properly, Sherlock.” She shook her head as she hung her parka, “When’d you get in?”

“Half an hour before you did.” He leaned his head back, “You look properly awful.”  She raised an eyebrow and looked down at her husband. She didn’t say it out loud, but she thought he looked…aged, sad. There were lines where there hadn’t been any before. Had the case in Whitechapel really hit him so hard? Hannah sighed and leaned over the couch, leaning against the back of it so she wouldn’t lose her balance.  

“Take a look in the mirror. You don’t look so great yourself.” She studied him, “What’s in your head, Sherlock?”

“Do you remember Celeste?”

“From this afternoon?” Hannah narrowed her eyes, “I’ve been thinking about her all day. Did you find family to take her?”

“An aunt, in Lille. Most of her surviving family is there, and they will be here at the end of this week to collect her.”

“Thank god she had family.” Hannah sighed, “I’ve seen too many children fall through the cracks because they didn’t have family who wanted them.”

“Celeste will be very well-loved by her family.”

“And yet, you are not happy with this.”

“I was responsible for her, and I…”

“You had your own issues to deal with, Sherlock. No one can possibly blame you for shirking your responsibilities to that little girl.”

“It is what it is.” He took her hand, “It’s been a very long day for both of us, yesterday was quite mad.”

“You get up from there and come to bed with me, silly thing.” She tugged on his hand and got him up. “You know, she called me Mum at the hospital?”

“She did? Why?”

“I gave her a toy, wearing a little replica of my parka, and she said, “that’s your coat, Mum.” We are not that girl’s parents. We’re not even kin to her, no blood between us.”

“And yet, we were kinder to her than anyone else has been in…months. Perhaps years. She was in the system for a very long time, Hannah.” Sherlock, at his core a sensitive soul, was still in tears, even all these hours later. Hannah hugged him and led the way to the bedroom.

“And now she has a chance to be as happy as she pleases. Were you very close with her mother’s family?”

“Yes, I was.” He looked so sad as they went through a familiar routine. She gave him a few minutes in the bathroom and waited for him to come back, sitting up against the headboard of their shared bed. When he came back, skin damp and cool and eyes dim, she just patted the spot next to her. Once they were settled, his head on her chest, she ran her fingers through his hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked softly. He shook his head. “Okay. But she’s safe, Sherlock. She’ll be alright now. She’s going back to her family.” The noise he made was heartbreaking.

Hannah sighed and went back over the information they had on the situation, what she knew about Sherlock’s relationship with Celeste. It was clear that as erratic as this relationship had been, happening mostly in the past three years, Celeste was very important to Sherlock, and he was important to her. Something had obviously happened to the mother, Hannah couldn’t imagine what, and Celeste had found herself in the system. Sherlock had maintained his contact and his responsibilities were carried out as agreed upon. His visits had probably been the only bit of legitimate happiness Celeste had to look forward to in her days. It was clear they were not strangers, that Celeste was very dear to Sherlock, very important to her. Keeping her safe during the troubles of the last few years must have been difficult for him, for both of them. She had family, yes, but…oh. Suddenly, it occurred to Hannah why Sherlock was so upset. Finding Celeste’s remaining biological family hadn’t been the problem at all, it was facing the reality that he might not be able to see her anymore, to visit when he liked. Not that travelling to France was all that difficult, but it was a significant distance that was suddenly being put between them. He didn’t want to give her up yet. He didn’t want to see her walk away from him, the length of separation uncertain. But…wasn’t he the child’s legal guardian? Didn’t that count for anything? Didn’t he have a say in her future? Sherlock had fallen asleep while she had paid a quick visit to her own small Mind Palace, deep breath hitting the side of her neck, and Hannah sighed. The immediate future would be interesting for sure.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my scanner codes at this website: http://www.radiolabs.com/police-codes.html


	2. Striking A Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More daily-life stuff for Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More scanner-codes. This time I use a couple of UK codes. I had to pick and chose carefully. Mostly because the codes used aren't universal and change between services and forces. I picked the ones that made the most sense.
> 
> UK scanner-codes:  
> Code Green2 = Emergency Response. Audible and visual emergency equipment (lights/sirens): Usually used (service policy dependent)  
> Code Red2 = Life Threat. Audible and visual emergency equipment (lights/sirens): Always used  
> Code Red1 = Immediate Life Threat. Audible and visual emergency equipment (lights/sirens): Always used
> 
> US scanner-codes:  
> Code 3 = Use lights and sirens

* * *

After a fitful night’s sleep, Hannah was awake before Sherlock. This happened sometimes, and she simply went about her usual morning routine. She was drinking coffee and sorting out her email inbox when her phone rang. She sighed and told the Despatcher that she would be on the kerb in fifteen minutes. Taking an efficient, five-minute shower, Hannah pulled down a clean uniform and made sure she had all of her gear. Sherlock had not stirred once and remained sound asleep as she sat on the bed to tie on her boots. Leaving a note on his pillow and a text to his phone, Hannah kissed her husband, smiled when he stirred a little bit without waking up, and grabbed her keys. She hit the pavement right as the ambulance pulled up and locked up the house before darting across the pavement to the waiting ambulance. She traded places with Malloy and they headed off to their first stake-out. Malloy was smart enough not to ask about yesterday, about Celeste, but he still had plenty of questions.

 

On a break between calls, Hannah finally had enough of his huffing and head-scratching.

“Alright, Malloy. Out with it.” She broke open a bag of crisps, “You’ve been twitchy all morning.”

“Sorry, it’s just…you were in Scotland yesterday! Or, I thought you were. What happened up there?”

“I got the break I needed. I didn’t expect it to take three months, and I’m dying to know what kind of string-pulling my brother-in-law had to do to keep my job open so I could come back to work when I got back to London.” She popped a crisp into her mouth, “Three months off the job doesn’t usually look good for most people.”

“Good drivers are hard to find, and drivers with experience and training as legitimate medics is harder still. Your credentials spoke well enough for you we weren’t going to boot you out just because you had to take medically-mandated leave.” Malloy shrugged as she offered him the bag. “Ta.”

“No problem. So?”

“What?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“A few things.” He narrowed his eyes, “And, uh, did you just…did you say “brother-in-law”?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. Okay. I wasn’t…I didn’t mishear that. Good.” Malloy nodded, “Got it. Uh, I take it you’re meaning Mycroft Holmes, then?”

“Yep.”

“Which means…you must’ve…” He trailed off with a vague hand-gesture and Hannah chuckled, showing him the ring at long last. “Oh, my god! Hannah, that’s gorgeous! Where did you _get_ that?”

“Belonged to my Gram McKay. Passed to my sister after Mum’s death, who passed it to my brother, who kept it safe until my idiot flat-mate decided it was a good idea to ask if I was interested in getting married.” She chuckled, remembering that informal, off-the-cuff proposal. Sherlock hadn’t even had a proper ring to give her, they had just up and decided to get married and then spent the next month finishing fine details and guest-lists.

“Y-you’ve got brothers?”

“Two, in fact.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and looked for pictures of her with Iain and John. “Here’s the boys.”

“Ooh, handsome blokes, aren’t they? Twins?”

“Uh, triplets, actually.” She found one picture someone had taken of her with her brothers at the wedding, “Can you tell?”

“Oh my god, look at that! So, what do your brothers do?”

“John, the one on the right, is Special Forces and goes wherever they need him. I think he flies helicopters now, but I’m not actually sure. Iain, the one on the left wearing that shit-eating grin, is a war-photographer and it’s kind of the same policy, he goes where they send him.”

“Either of them married?”

“John is. That’s his family.” She flipped to a picture of John and his little family, “His wife’s government, Christ knows exactly what she does. That little bundle of joy is Rosamund. They’ve got another one on the way.”

“Wow. And, um, your sister?”

“Harry? She’s sober, for once, and very happily married. Has been for years, it just hasn’t always been easy.” Hannah found a picture taken of Hannah and Sherlock with the Watsons. Her parents were there, all three of her siblings and their respective significant others.

“Who’s that?” Malloy pointed to her father. Hannah smiled.

“That’s my dad. Well, actually, that’s both of them. That’s my father James Watson on the right, and his husband Thomas Balloch is next to him.”

“Boy, you’ve got an interesting family, don’t you?”

“That’s one word for it.” She chuckled. “Turns out I had more family than I thought I did.”

“Looks like it.” Malloy just smiled and stole a couple of crisps, chuckling when she yanked the bag away and told him to get his own. It became a game of keep-away and the only thing that broke them up was the squawk of the scanner.

“Oi!” Hannah made a last aborted grab for her poor pilfered crisps even as she reached for the radio at the same time, “Fine, but you owe me!”

“Deal.” Malloy beamed at her, “Might want to take that, love.”

“Rack off, Malloy.” She growled, clearing her throat as she hit the press-to-talk button on the in-cabin radio.

 _“Ambulance 7437-Alpha go for Despatch. Driver Watson.”_ She waited for the dispatcher to come back with the details of their next call and raised an eyebrow. No rest for the weary, it seemed. They were being called to assist at a crime-scene. It sounded like a victim had been recovered and was in need of medical assistance. Getting the address of the call, Hannah jumped out of the cab and ran around to check on the bay and make sure everything was ready. Once she was satisfied, it was back around the ambulance to get underway. Hannah checked on the time and called in one more time to Despatch.

_“It’s a Code Green2 or Red2, 7437-Alpha. Code 3. Might be a Red1.”_

_“Roger that, Despatch.”_ Hannah nodded and Malloy reached over to switch on the ambulance’s blues-and-twos. They were approximately fifteen minutes out from their destination, Hannah was able to shave it down to eight using a combination of careful aggressive driving and the blues-and-twos to get traffic out of her way. They were one of two ambulances responding and just one of a small fleet of first responder vehicles. She counted two area cars and a couple of IRVs. 

“Is that…is that a Public Order Vehicle?” She pointed out an armoured truck, “What the hell is going on out here?”

“Keep driving,”  Malloy whispered as a couple of constables waved them to a stop. She recognised them both and sighed.

“Hey, look who it is.” Abby Foster leaned in through the window, “Wondered if they’d call your bus or not. How’s it going, Watson?”

“Foster. What’s on?”

“You’d better go up there.”

“Any of ours get hurt?”

“A couple, but nothing terrible. We’re getting ready to ship the vic out to Royal.”

“What happened?”

“You’ll have to ask the DI.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Yep.” Foster patted the frame and hopped back, “Go on.”

“Thanks, Babs.” She sighed and drove the ambulance through the line, stopping where she was flagged down by Pat Jenkins.

“Same gang as yesterday. Wanna bet this one went to Lestrade?” Malloy kicked his door open and hopped out. Hannah shook her head.

“I’m not taking that bet because that means one of his team did something really, _really_ stupid and I have to patch them up again.”

“Let’s go see who needs what, then.” Malloy went around to get their kits and Hannah grabbed hers as she headed for where she could see a couple of constables. Between a few uniforms, she caught a glimpse of familiar silver and groaned.

“Fucking hell, Greg.” She ruffled her hair, irritated that she was getting called to a scene involved with her family twice in a row.

“You handle that lot, I’ll check over that way.” Malloy patted her on the shoulder and she headed for her brother-in-law.

“Greg!” She called out, raising one hand as she closed on his group. He turned sharply and when he saw her, the relief was quite obvious.

“Oh thank Christ it’s you!”

“Who needs patching up, and how bad is it?”

“He does.” Greg thumbed over his shoulder, “Good thing it’s you, he’s a troll about paramedics. Doesn’t mind you, though.” Hannah peeked around her brother-in-law and raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell did he do?”

“Got damn lucky is what. Doesn’t look like he took too much damage, mostly superficial. The perp’s in far worse shape, if you can believe it.”

“I thought beating up suspects was _my_ job.” She shook her head and stepped around Greg to take stock of her husband. “Alright, you mad thing. Let me get a look at you properly.”

“Hannah.” A winded, slightly-bruised Sherlock raised his head and looked up at her, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m doing _my_ job. They called two ambulances to this scene, mine was one of them. They’re shipping the vic to Royal London Hospital. Might have to send the perp in, too.” She pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves and tipped her husband’s head back. “Jesus, Sherlock. Make my job interesting, why don’t you?”

“Make your _life_ interesting, yeah?”

“Bastard.” She sighed, “Well, I’ve seen worse, but this is going to need a couple of stitches.” Among the injuries sustained doing Christ alone knew what to the suspect, Sherlock had received a slight head-wound that bled rather prettily. Hannah shook her head and opened her kit, retrieving a suture-kit and breaking it open. Hannah made short, effective work of cleaning and assessing the wound and applying a few neat sutures to close the wound. After tying off and clipping the thread, she covered the lot with a plaster and moved on to cleaning up the rest of her husband’s hurts. There was concern he might have broken his wrist, at the very least he had sprained it, so she splinted the affected wrist and told Greg to get him to a hospital so the affected wrist could be x-rayed and properly treated.

-&-

Once she had cleaned up Sherlock and gotten him on his way, she went to check on the vic and the perp, who were both getting shipped to different hospitals. They got the perp and headed for University College London Hospital, while the other ambulance took the victim to The Royal London Hospital. Hannah was all too happy to hand the suspect over to the teams at UCLH, and they spent some time cleaning out the ambulance and straightening things up. They were waiting for another call to come through, Hannah sitting on the back with the doors open, when a scrub-clad staffer suddenly appeared. Hannah watched the nurse’s approach and raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, Boss. Incoming.” She called towards the cab.

“See ‘em,” Malloy called back. Hannah waited for the staffer to reach them, it was clear she was looking for their ambulance, and was out of the ambulance in a heartbeat when she finally recognised the nurse.

“Mary!” It was her sister-in-law

“Hannah!”

“Oh, so _this_ is your legitimate job, isn’t it?” She gave Mary Morstan a tight hug, “Jesus, can any of us take a proper holiday, then?”

“Guess not.” Mary pulled back, “It’s a good thing you stuck around.”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me…”

“Sorry, love.”

“Damn it, Sherlock!” She sighed, “Jesus, can he just behave himself for five minutes? Who did he insult this time?”

“A couple of nurses and an aide. He won’t be still and they’re about to boot him.”

“Alright, I’m coming.” Hannah looked over her shoulder, “Give me a mo.”

“Of course.” Mary waited by the back of the ambulance while she went around front to let Malloy know she’d been summoned to help inside the hospital.

“What is it this time?”

“My husband is being difficult. Since I’m here, I might as well make someone else’s job a little less stressful. Not sure how long I’ll be, so just hang out here.”

“You got it. Good luck?”

“Yeah, we’ll need some of that.” She squared her shoulders and caught up with Mary, who led the way into the hospital and through the A&E Department to where they were holding Sherlock. It was bad enough the door was not only closed but _locked_ and there were two people guarding it from outside. Well, at least Greg had picked his back-up wisely. Hannah groaned and covered her face with both hands. Seeing her coming with Mary at her six, Abby Foster clicked her radio to let those on the inside know that help had finally shown up.

“Jesus, Foster, you have better things to do than guard my husband’s hospital-room! What the hell did he do?”

“This is to keep him from bolting. He’s tried once, I think Lestrade cuffed him, actually. I heard a _lot_ of shouting.”

“Moron. If he hurt himself again…” She tried the door and found it open, and forced it open enough to let herself in. The room was adequately lit, small and cramped as most A&E private rooms had a habit of being, and she took one look at the man sitting on the gurney with the meanest look on his face and almost started laughing. She stuck her head out and looked for Foster.

“Hey, Foster?”

“Yeah?”

“Should’ve bet on that.”

“Damn!” Foster actually stomped her foot, “He’s not hurt worse, is he? Take-downs can get kind of violent and he was in rough shape.”

“Looks okay to me.” She glanced over her shoulder, making a few quick deductions, “He might not be happy with us after today.”

“Too bad.”

“Sit tight, you two.” Hannah closed the door again and leaned against it, arms folded across her chest as she looked from her fuming husband to her equally-furious brother-in-law.

“Okay, what happened in here? I half-expected broken equipment and shouting.”

“He’s refusing care. Keeps trying to walk out of here.”

“Jesus Christ, Holmes.” Hannah approached the bed and brandished the universal keys to the handcuffs, “You _need_ to get that wrist looked at by someone who isn’t me, alright? A few quick imaging tests will tell us if it’s broken or just sprained. You’d better hope to God it’s not broken.”

“What _kind_ of imaging tests?”

“X-ray, might ask for an MRI just to be sure. Let me see it.” She held out her hand once she’d gotten him out of the cuffs. The temporary splint she’d put him up in before dismissing him from the scene over in Hoxton was holding up and she removed it to check for any new injury to the wrist. Everything felt stable, she couldn’t palpate any breaks or fractures, and she replaced the splint with a shake of her head.

“You’re damn lucky we stuck around, Sherlock, or you’d be rather out of luck.”

“So, what now?”

“Now? You’ll go get that looked at, and then we’ll see about getting you out of here.” She looked over as the door opened, admitting Mary and another staffer, then looked at Sherlock. “You have to be nice to these people now, Sherlock. You don’t pull any of your old tricks.” Sherlock sized up the tech who had come to fetch him and pulled a face. Hannah had made many of the same deductions, but she wasn’t about to say anything. The tech, completely ignorant of the tension in the room or simply uncaring of it, looked at the chart in her hand, and then looked at Sherlock?

“Mr Holmes?”

“Yes.”

“If you’ll come with me, sir, we’ll get that looked at.”

“In what?”

“That.” “That” was a wheelchair, and Hannah subtly dangled Greg’s handcuffs to warn Sherlock against throwing a fit. They’d be more than happy to strap him to that gurney and transport him that way if necessary. Getting the hint, he grumbled and settled into the wheelchair. Just as they wheeled him out, his mobile started ringing.

“Answer it!”

“Expecting a call, Holmes?” Greg fetched the phone out of the bag of clothes and belongings sitting by the bed.

“Only a few people call me, answer it!” He looked almost frantic, and Hannah remembered last night.

“Oh my god! Greg, give it to me! Mary, go with them, I’ll catch up!” She grabbed the phone from Greg and swiped into the call before it rang to voicemail.

“Okay, then.” Greg shrugged, a little put off by the abruptness of their attitudes, but Hannah had an idea who might be calling, and it was not a phone-call she wanted going to voicemail.

 _“Phone of Sherlock Holmes, this is Hannah Watson. May I ask who’s calling?”_ She marvelled that her voice was so steady and crossed her fingers behind her back.

 _“Yes, I’m trying to reach Sherlock Holmes?”_ A woman on the other end of the line sounded rather uncertain of who she was supposed to be talking to.

_“I’m sorry, he’s currently unavailable, can I take a message for him and have him call you back?”_

_“I…suppose. Are you relation to him?”_

_“I’m his wife, how’s that? Now who are you and what are you calling for?”_

_“Oh, sorry, ma’am! So_ _sorry, ma’am. My name is Lindsey Hope, I’m calling from the Office of Child and Family Welfare in regards to a Celeste LeVar.”_

_“Yes?”_

_“Well, ma’am, we’ve looked over her paperwork and Mr Holmes is listed as her primary guardian and point of contact. Your name wasn’t on the paperwork, ma’am.”_

_“It wouldn’t be, but I am speaking for Mr Holmes on his behalf at the moment. What can we do for you?”_

_“Well, ma’am, Miss LeVar doesn’t have any family locally and the only family we could find is in Lille, France. They’ve said they’ll be here by the end of the week to collect her, but we need somewhere for her to stay in the interim.”_

_“Don’t even think about putting that sweet little girl in a foster home! You send one of your people over to 221B Baker Street, I’ll have someone meet you there.”_ Hannah almost snarled, she knew exactly where this was going. _“Do your safety checks and house-readiness checks and make sure that little girl is listed to stay at the address I just gave you until her mother’s family comes for her or further notice. Do you understand me?”_

 _“W-what was the address, ma’am?”_ Poor Lindsay Hope, she was only trying to do her job, but Hannah would be damned if they lost a shot to spend more time with Celeste. Sherlock would never forgive himself, or Hannah, if that happened.

 _“221B Baker Street, Marylebone, London, NW1 6XE.”_ Hannah gave the full address for Baker Street.

_“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll send someone over as soon as possible to inspect the residence. Is there anything about the house we should know before we arrive?”_

_“No, I shouldn’t think so.”_ She was thinking of the kitchen, but since they’d been gone for three months there wasn’t really much there, and most of Sherlock’s experiments were kept either in the basement or at Saint Bart’s these days. Hannah rubbed her forehead, _“Send your agents, someone will be there to meet you and take you through the relevant parts of the house.”_

 _“Yes, ma’am. So sorry for the trouble. Thank you for your time.”_ Hope cleared her throat, _“You will have to inform Mr Holmes.”_

 _“Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure he hears about this. Thank you for calling, Miss Hope.”_ Hannah hung up with the OCAFW agent and pocketed Sherlock’s phone. A hand on her shoulder was Greg, who had left the room to give her privacy.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Jesus. Sorry about that, Greg. That was a rep from the Office of Child and Family Welfare calling to tell us that they need to place Celeste LeVar somewhere safe until her family comes to collect her.”

“What the hell were they thinking? That they would say “Oh, we’re placing her in a foster-home, thank you for your bit”? Like any of us would be alright with that after last night?” Greg frowned, “Jesus.”

“I didn’t give them any choice otherwise. I need someone to meet them at Baker Street to take them through the house.”

“Mycroft. He’ll scare ‘em straight, he knows about Celeste and how important she is to Sherlock.”

“Can you call him for me, I need to find Sherlock and let him know that we might have a bit of good luck.” She pocketed Sherlock’s phone and knew this wasn’t going to be long-term, but…whatever time they were lucky enough to have would be put to very good use.

-&-

After clearing Sherlock through imaging, and confirming a sprained wrist, Hannah saw her husband discharged from the hospital and sent him home to Baker Street. She suspected the social workers would be at the house with Mycroft, but that was fine. Going back to work, she kept busy with runs and maintaining the ambulance between calls.

“I can’t believe we didn’t get _any_ calls in the hour I spent corralling my husband at the hospital.” She mused as she leaned against the side of the ambulance during a stop to refuel both the vehicle and the crew. The sun hadn’t set and she still had four hours left of her twelve-hour shift. She had signed on for twelve-hour shifts back when she started working for Saint John’s Ambulance, it was enough to keep her occupied and she actually preferred the long hours. Sherlock didn’t mind them either, he would text or call if he really needed her help, but he hadn’t ever come to her at work until yesterday.

“We got a couple, but I passed them to other teams.” Malloy was coming back from the shop attached to the petrol-station, carrying a shop-bag with some snacks. “Helps to be the boss sometimes.”

“Guess so.” She chuckled and pushed away from the ambulance as the pump clicked. After finishing up at the pump, she hopped back into the cab and moved the bus to an out-of-the-way spot to wait for their next call to come in.

“So, what happened while you were playing mediator between your husband and the A&E staff?”

“Well, my sister-in-law works at University, so she was a huge help.” Hannah broke open a bag of crisps and eyed Malloy as she did so. “These are _mine_ , by the way, you get your own.”

“Don’t worry, love, your crisps are safe this time.” He brandished a second bag of identical crisps and she rolled her eyes. “You said your sister-in-law works at the hospital?”

“Yep.”

“John’s wife?”

“Mary. She’s…amazing.” Hannah shrugged, “And she gets along with Sherlock, so that’s always a bonus.”

“Not many people get along with him, do they?”

“Nope.”

“So she was useful keeping him in line.”

“So was Lestrade and a couple of his constables. It’s nice to have people we can trust like that.”

“Absolutely. So, what was it this time?”

“Sprained wrist, he’ll be fine in a week or two. Up to me to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid and make it worse.”

“Good luck with that.”

“And then we got a phone-call from the Office of Child and Family Welfare.”

“Oh.” Malloy’s eyes widened, “Uh oh. Everything okay?”

“More or less, could be worse. After they discharged Celeste LeVar from the hospital, they realized they had nowhere to send her to wait until her mother’s family arrives to collect her.”

“So she’s _got_ family?”

“In Lille, France. They’ve said they’ll be here by the end of the week. I think…that might be a little close, they might come out later.”

“So, where’s she going to stay until they come to get her?”

“With us at Baker Street. Sherlock’s her legal guardian, anyway, so they don’t really have much of a choice about where she goes in the interim.”

“Wow.” Malloy blinked, “She’s a cute little girl, it’s a shame what happened.”

“She’ll be in good hands with her family, I get the feeling this isn’t an estranged relationship. They know about her, and she knows about them, so it’s not like she’s living with complete strangers who don’t care about her well-being.”

“Do you think Sherlock made sure she got to spend time with her mother’s family?”

“If he didn’t, Mycroft would have made arrangements.”

“Yeah, try saying no to _him_ , why don’t you?” Malloy snorted, “Have I ever told you your brother-in-law’s a scary man when he feels like it?”

“Comes with the territory. He kind of runs the country, more or less, I guarantee he can work some magic to make sure a little girl gets to see her family.”

“Good. So, she’ll stay with you until her family comes to collect her. Do you think he can give her up?”

“Yeah. It won’t be easy, but it’s for the best. We’re not exactly…equipped to look after a child long-term.”

“But as long as you need to.”

“Yeah.” She sniffled, “I never really _wanted_ kids, it just wasn’t part of my plan.” Not to mention she had a couple of hang-ups to work through. Malloy just shook his head but didn’t say anything. He understood that Hannah had experienced some nasty stuff in her past and intimate sexual relationships weren’t really something she was looking forward to. He had been there the night she was attacked by Robert Leland, he had been pulling a double with another team who needed a driver, so he knew what had sent her to Scotland.

But she was married, and intimacy was part and parcel of the whole mess, and she had married someone who knew every one of her ugly secrets and still loved her. Sherlock was willing to take his time with her and move at whatever pace she set for them. She had two reliable jobs, a stable, loving relationship, friends and family enough that she hadn’t known really cared so much. It was more than she had ever been brave enough to ask for.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my scanner codes at this website: http://www.radiolabs.com/police-codes.html  
> And this one: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emergency_service_response_codes#United_Kingdom


End file.
